


As Needed

by lynne_monstr



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge 2015, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“It’s an admirable trait, loyalty.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>One of many, Wesley would have agreed aloud had he the breath for it.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>(or, the real reason why the SUV has tinted windows)</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Needed

From inside the SUV, the city could almost be mistaken for something beautiful. The grime of ruined buildings and miserable souls faded to an indistinct smear, muted by thick tinted panes of glass and soft supple leather. Not dissimilar, Wesley considered, to how one would apply a fresh coat of paint to hide away the stench of decaying rot beneath its cloying surface.

He turned away from the window as the car crawled its way through the overcrowded streets towards the office of the Police Commissioner. _Complication_ was the word of the day, and he was one phone call away from taking a page from his employer’s handbook and doing something…well, something _violent_ was about as far as he got before the shrill ring of his cell phone derailed that line of thought.

“What,” he snapped, not bothering to check the display on his phone. At the same time, he hit the button to raise the privacy barrier between himself and the driver.

The familiar tones of his employer’s voice came over the car’s speaker system. “Am I interrupting something, Wesley?”

To anyone else that would be a warning _,_ but Wesley could hear the thread of amusement beneath the words. He matched it with his own. “I’m supposed to be working. My employer would be displeased to hear I was delayed.”

“I see.” A slight pause, and Wesley could imagine those thick fingers steepling together in thought, lips pursing as he plucked each word from the air. “Your employer must work you very hard.”

Wesley let the ghost of a smile tug at the edges of his lips. “The job has its rewards.”

A quiet huff came from the speakers. “In service of those…rewards, you do everything he asks?”

Wesley settled back against the soft leather of his seat as he exhaled. He had an idea where this conversation was heading but wasn’t ready to jump to conclusions yet. As well as he knew the voice on the phone, he still hadn’t managed to decipher all the nuances with complete accuracy. Taking a chance, he let his voice drop as he answered, “I do anything that’s needed of me.”

“How incredibly loyal.”

“Sir.” A warmth settled in his chest, and he allowed himself a moment to savor it, the taste of the words headier than any vintage in his private cellar.

“The tie you’re wearing. Which is it?”

It was an abrupt change of topic, but Wesley answered without hesitation. “The blue and green diamonds.”

The resulting pleased murmur seemed to fill the car.

He remembered, Wesley realized, secretly delighted. That particular tie was one of the few he hadn’t bought for himself; rather it was a gift that marked his first success in this damnable city. _We are the light in the dark,_ his new employer had said back then, holding the small box in one outstretched hand, looking an impossible mix of powerfully self-assured and painfully shy.

That same power was on display now, sending a thrill down Wesley’s spine as a curt, “Tighten it,” rang out like the crack of a whip in the small space. The tension that had so easily drained out of Wesley was back in an instant, bringing with it an undercurrent of anticipation that set his heart pounding in his ears.

Mentally, he filed this particular conversational nuance away in his memory. He did so love being right.

At the same time, his hands moved of their own accord, so used to carrying out whatever was asked of him. Deft fingers wrapped around the neatly tied knot at his collar and adjusted it in one swift motion. He bit back a choke as his throat constricted, warmth flooding his cheeks as he drew a labored breath. Another warmth spread its tendrils through him, lower this time, and he fought against the urge to shut his eyes and give into it.

“Sir.” His voice sounded thin to his own ears, a tiny bird fluttering trapped in a cage.

“It’s an admirable trait, loyalty.”

One of many, Wesley would have agreed aloud had he the breath for it. He felt too large for his skin, coiled and ready and unable to do anything to relieve the pressure except wait for the next instruction. His fingernails dug into his thighs through the thin wool of his suit as he fought to keep still.

His patience was rewarded.

“Touch yourself. But do it slowly.”

Letting out a shallow breath that left him lightheaded, Wesley lifted one hand to stroke a single finger over the bulge already beginning to strain against his suit pants. It wasn’t nearly enough, and repeating the move only made the ache solidify into a blinding flare of need. He became suddenly, intensely aware of the slight rocking of the vehicle over the city streets, the rumble of the engine and the pockmarks in the road that sent tiny vibrations into his feet where they touched the floor. Vibrations that passed up his calves and over his knees and shot straight between his legs.

His eyes blinked rapidly behind his glasses as a wave of dizziness overtook him.

 _Breathe_ , he remembered. He needed to breathe. He opened his mouth and fought to gulp in enough air against the pressure of the tie around his neck. He succeeded only partway, and redoubled his efforts. Another shallow wheeze of air sounded over the hum of the engine, and the world came back into focus. The burning in his lungs eased.

With that, he decided that he’d adequately fulfilled the _slow_ part of the request.

Forcing his hands steady, he popped the button on his slacks and drew down the zipper. The tiny motion was enough to send his hips pushing into his own hand. He let out a sharp gasp at the rush of relief it brought. He supposed he should have found that embarrassing but for the moment he was too distracted to actually care.

A deep answering groan from the speakers made him pause, and he realized with a thrill that he wasn’t the only one engaging in this particular act. He bit his lip against the swell of pride the realization brought and tightened his fist as he stroked himself to full hardness. He was used to being watched on the job, his every move and examined and evaluated. To have that same attention while he was doing _this_ —he felt pinned down and pried open despite the only hands on him being his own.

The intense scrutiny was a tangible thing, smoke made solid to cling to his skin. Spreading his legs wider, he imagined it was a different hand wrapped tight around his neck rather than the impersonal touch of silk knotted tight, a different hand bringing him closer to the edge with each rough stroke. He might be a bird in a cage, but unlike the bird he was there of his own will. Exactly where he needed to be.

The thought spurred him on. Lungs burning, he set a faster, more punishing pace, his free hand reaching down to fondle himself as best he could through the straining material of his suit pants. The pressure inside him built until it had nowhere to go, but still he kept going, balancing on a knife’s edge until all he could think about was the need pounding relentlessly through him, the demand for release and for air fighting the bonds of his self-control.

“Now, Wesley.” The voice was low and scratchy but still in control.

He hadn’t even realized he was waiting for permission until it was given. One final twist of his wrist and he was falling, a tiny gasp of relief escaping his throat. The white hot agony in his chest faded to nothing as a rush of warmth raced through his entire body, Fisk’s name silent on his lips as he rode it out.

The world pulsed in time with his heartbeat as he came back down to himself. Slowly, the blurry edges of the car’s interior sharpened and the noise of the outside world came pouring in; a series of muffled car horns and shouted obscenities. Vaguely, he felt a tickling sensation against his temple near the hairline. A bead of sweat, he realized with distaste.

A soft, “Are you still there?” broke through the background noise.

Giving a faint smile, Wesley raised his head from where it was slumped down against his chest. He loosened his tie, savoring the simple pleasure of a full breath of air filling his lungs for what left like the first time.

“Yes,” he said. He barely recognized the wreckage of his voice.

He didn’t need to see Fisk’s face to picture the familiar smile curved around his employer’s lips as he answered, “Thank you, Wesley.”

The call ended, and the soft background hiss of the speakers fell silent, leaving only the soft rumble of the car and the muted sounds of the city around him.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

As a final indulgence, he allowed himself several minutes to stay bonelessly sagged against the seat, enjoying the lingering hum beneath his skin. Eventually though, it was time to get back to business. He was almost at his next appointment. Plucking a neatly folded handkerchief from his jacket pocket, he meticulously cleaned himself up.

This city, however distasteful he might find it, wasn’t going to fix itself.

He had work to do.


End file.
